


Lucky

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: (South Asian Danny Rand), Action/Adventure, Background Relationships, F/M, M/M, Misty Knight/Danny Rand - Freeform, Monica Rambeau/James 'Rhodey' Rhodes, Sam-Centric, SamCap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8813857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: Steve is hunting Hydra in Europe while Sam holds down the fort as Captain America in America, but nothing is easy and sometimes you just have to hope for some luck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt fill for an anonymous friend on Tumblr. Prompt below:
> 
> "I saw on your most recent AO3 fic (loved it btw you have a way with words that is just...) that you were looking for some prompts? I'd love to see your take on Samcap if you could find the time? Less kind of domestic house husband steve/ cap sam and more like Steve as nomad and Sam as cap? Or Sam as cap doing Avenger ish while Steve works out of sight to fuck up what's left of hydra?"

_"I'm lucky because the strongest emotion I have ever felt is being in love..."_ Ben Elton

 

"All I'm asking," Steve said, "is why doesn't Fury put Rhodes on missions with you? You two work well together." 

Sam rolled his eyes. He knew what his husband was trying to say. He could hear every not-word in between the actual, even through the miles and miles between them. Steve was somewhere in Europe with Sharon and Nat, punching neo-Nazis and making the world safe for democracy and blah blah blah -- whatever spin the US government had put on it when they begged SHIELD to get its shit back together in the wake of the Battle of the Potomac. Sam couldn't see Steve (hadn't seen him in person in far too long), but he could just about imagine the worry between Steve's eyebrows, the hardness of his jaw, the open breadth of his chest as he tried to assert his role as protector.  

Usually, Sam loved when Steve got all 'nobody's gonna hurt my man.' It was cute. Especially the time Sam screamed like a torture victim because he saw a mouse dart across the counter and Steve came in all macho and said they'd had mice all the time in 1930s Brooklyn and that a mouse wasn't anything to be afraid of as long as it didn't bite you and Sam had needed a stiff drink because he didn't do mice. Bugs and shit, fine. Mice were a no-go. That was a good time for Steve to go into Protective Mode (TM). But right about now, Sam kinda wanted to tell Steve to stick that whole show where the sun didn't shine.  

Instead he said as calmly as he could, "Rhodey lives in New Orleans, Steve. He and Monica got out of the game to be married and domestic a year ago. Something we could have done, by the way." 

Steve went quiet on the other end of the line and Sam realized his dumb husband had probably just done a swan dive into a pool of guilt. "Not that I'm complaining," he assured him. "I'm loving carrying the shield and saving kittens and shit. But if we were chilling in Atlanta, you wouldn't be calling me every time one of my fights got on the news begging me to partner up with someone, so maybe they could be the one to get hurt instead of me." 

"I don't call every time," Steve muttered. "Just the times when you get shot out of the sky." 

"It's an occupational hazard," Sam said breezily. "They didn't show you the part where my parachute kept me from becoming a splatter on the concrete." 

Steve made a frustrated, aborted sort of noise in his throat. "I'm just saying, " he said carefully, "I'd feel better if you had someone with you." 

"And you chose Rhodey?" Sam laughed. "For one thing, you two haven't fooled me at all. I know you still hate each other. Second, he's retired, which you'd remember if you liked him enough to pay attention to me when I talk about him. Third, America has been having a hard enough time accepting that  _I'm_  Captain America. They'd lose their whole and complete minds if me  _and_  Rhodey's black ass were the face of this whole heroics business." 

Steve went quiet again, probably trying to think of good, stout refutations for Sam's points. "I like Rhodey just fine," he finally said. 

"Sure you do," Sam laughed. "You bought him an umbrella as a wedding gift, if I recall." 

"He was moving to New Orleans," Steve said innocently. "It rains a lot down there." 

"An Iron Man kid's umbrella." 

"Rhodey likes Tony. I know that's hard to believe, all things considered about Tony. But I was being incredibly thoughtful." 

"Yeah, yeah," Sam laughed. "Go kick some Hydra butt and tell Sharon and Nat I say hello. And stop micromanaging me." 

"My micromanaging you might keep you alive." 

Sam harrumphed. "Which one of us has never died, not even once in the line of duty?" He paused for effect. "I think that makes  _me_  the expert on not-dying." 

"Fine," Steve said. "Be careful. I love you." 

"I love you, too."  

Sam hung up the phone and it fell to his side on the hospital bed.  

Misty whistled. "You are certainly an accomplished liar, Mr. Wilson." She surveyed Sam's bloodied and bruised body on the bed pointedly.  

Sam grunted. "He would have come back from whatever he was doing if he knew." 

Misty held out her bionic hand as if admiring her manicure, no doubt looking for any nicks or dings in the metal. "If he knew what, Sammy? That you've broken your arm in two places, scraped half the skin off your back, concussed your fool self, and pissed off both the liberals and conservatives in one fell swoop today?" 

Sam shrugged and winced as the gash in his back tore and started bleeding again, sending a hot, wet gush down his spine. That was going to get tacky in his hospital gown real fast.  

Misty noticed his grimace and reached over to press the on-call button.  

"You don't--" Sam began, but Misty cut him off.  

"Helen put me in here to keep you from being all manly and 'I don't need medical care' about this." 

"It's not a manly thing," Sam insisted. "I'm fine." 

 "You hear that, Claire?" Misty asked, turning to the door that had just opened. "Sam's fine. He' just bleeding everywhere is all." 

Claire grabbed Sam's chart from the bottom of the bed and read through the list of his injuries with a slight frown between her eyes. She set the clipboard back in place and set her hands on her hips. "You do realize you're not unbreakable, right?" She asked this in that no-nonsense way she had that still managed to show she cared. Misty often lacked that second half the equation. "And you haven't had a super serum of any sort? And you're not wearing any kind of flying armor? You do actually realize these things, right?" 

"Claire," Sam said weakly. Talking to Steve had wiped him out more than he'd realized. 

"Luke is unbreakable and you don't see him taking half the risks you take." 

"I saved the day," Sam said sulkily.  

"The whole Serpent Society will be out on bail by tomorrow morning," Misty said. "Which sucks, but that's how it goes sometimes. So, it hardly makes sense for you to literally kill yourself trying to hold them in a jail cell overnight." 

"They were trying to steal some thingummy to power some other thingummy," Sam tried to explain.  

"Let me guess," Claire said. "You got to the thingummy before the Society?" 

Sam nodded.  

"And instead of taking this whatever back to SHIELD campus, you decided to engage with the Serpent Society with no backup," Misty pointed out.  

"I did just fine," Sam sighed.  

"Tell your arm that," Claire said. "Or your back. Or your poor bruised brain." She patted Sam's knee sympathetically and then readied a syringe of something. Sam eyed the needle nervously. He wasn't much for being stabbed with sharp bits of metal in the name of greater health. "Dr. Cho will put you in the regenerator this afternoon," Claire said, tapping the side of the syringe to get rid of bubbles. "She's trying to patch Matt up right now." She pushed the needle into one of the veins in Sam's arm, first try. "That idiot is even more broken than you." 

"But he's blind," Misty interrupted. "Which is a much better excuse that you've got, Sammy." 

Sam's head drooped, the medicine hitting him quick. "Don't call me that," he muttered, or maybe he didn't. Maybe he only thought it, but his lips were to heavy to part and the words couldn't get...out... 

*** 

When Sam woke up, he could tell he'd been through Helen's regenerator. He could also tell he had someone in the room with him and it wasn't Misty or Claire or anyone he wanted to talk to after a long day of getting his ass kicked and putting his foot in his mouth in a big way.  

"Fury," he mumbled, not opening his eyes. His lids felt welded shut and he didn't need to see to know who was here. Fury had a distinct smell – expensive leather, coffee and newsprint. It's what Sam's dad had smelled like, but  _his_  leather had been the cheap kind. Sam sighed. "I'm just out of the chamber. Can we do this later?" 

"No," Fury said shortly. "I've got infinite messes to clean up and you don't get to dictate my schedule because you're sleepy." 

Sam groaned. "I thought you sent Misty in here to yell at me earlier." 

"Did she?" 

"Claire saved me from the worst of it. Morphine. It's something special." 

"Don't get gaga on me, son."  

Sam peeled his eyes apart. Fury only called his son when shit was real. "What?" he asked.  

Fury nodded at the television in the corner, on but muted. It was the fight in D.C., Sam against three members of the Serpent Society. Sam looked away.  

"I already know how that ended." 

Fury strode over to the TV set and turned up the volume as the scene switched to early this morning when a handful of reporters had got to Sam while he was on his run. He'd been short and irritable with them, he remembered, and then one of journalists, Monica Garcia, who was basically decent but still part of the media machine had asked why Sam seemed to hold Congress in such contempt since the rise of the Serpent Society.  

"Because Congress isn't doing anything to stop these moneyed thugs from doing whatever they want," Sam said angrily. "And it's despicable that there are so few people willing to stand up to the Serpent Society. You guys coddle them. You invite them on your late night shows to smile and make nice. You call them Mr. Scott and Ms. Sealey so that American public will forget that they're Death Adder and Black Mamba, prolific and high-profile criminals." Sam was in a froth. "The damn Republicans are saying that the Serpent Society is going to boost our economy, so it doesn't matter that they're lowlifes with their fingers in every nefarious pot in this country. And the soft line that liberals have taken is as damaging as the enthusiastic support of conservatives. The Serpent Society are snakes. It's right in the name. And yet Congressmen are loath to put together any type of legislation because these assholes can afford to buy them, because apparently, fighting criminals is just as bad as being one these day. But I swear, if I have to punch every Serpent Society member in the face on national television to get some change, I will."  

Fury turned off the television. "And with that little speech, you pissed off every single person on the Hill." 

Sam shrugged. 

"And cut into our funding." 

Sam folded his arms. 

Fury's glower went into full-scary-scowl mode. "Do you think hellicarriers and regeneration tanks and this campus just appear because we're the good guys, Cap? No. Rhodey and I have to go intohearing after hearing. We have to spread the saggiest white cheeks and kiss the oldest puckering assholes to get this." 

Sam grimaced and Fury snorted like a bull. "You don't like the image, Sam? Well, I don't like doing it. And I certainly don't like doing it because you can't play nice. You think Rhodey's happy leaving the arms of his beautiful new wife in New Orleans to come handle shit like this? The man gets paralyzed, gets out of the gig, gets married, and then gets dragged back into the fracas every time you open your mouth." 

"Fury--" 

"Sam, if the next words out of your mouth aren't, 'I've got private reserves of money that will free us from our dependency on old, white men in D.C.' I don't want to hear them." 

"They're crooks, Fury." 

"Don't I know it? But SHIELD can't go around making enemies of senators and journalists every time they get something wrong." 

Sam scowled. "I said what we're all thinking." 

"Yeah, with our budget up for vote on Monday. You know I don't mind you splitting skulls. It gives me a glow the dermatologists are still trying to figure out. But look at the bigger picture, son." 

Sam rolled onto his side, looking away from Fury. "I used to defend you when Steve came home pissed at you." 

"Rogers never had it so good. And I hold you to a much higher standard than I held him."  

Sam looked over his shoulder at Fury. "Why's that?" 

Fury's face softened a smidge and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather trench. "You're not an idiot, Sam. You know why."  

Before Sam could respond to that, Misty burst through the door without knocking, her modus operandi as far as Sam was concerned.  

"Did you tell him yet?" she asked Fury. 

"Tell me what?" Sam asked. He sat up suspiciously.  

Misty's shoulders drooped. "I'll take that as a no." 

"I thought it'd be better coming from you," Fury said.  

"You did not." Misty poked Fury in the arm. "You're just trying to force me to be an adult about this. And I don't wanna." 

"Tell me what?" Sam repeated.  

Fury squeezed Misty's shoulder. 

"Well," she said. She clenched and unclenched her bionic hand. "I guess you didn't notice what with the massive blow you took to the head, but, um, but I....um, you lost the shield." Misty looked away. "And we didn't recover it." 

Sam stared dumbfounded. "My shield is gone?"  

"Priority was to get you out," Misty snapped defensively. "Not saving your favorite toy." 

"Misty--" 

"I know," she said. She hung her head. "I don't like that this is on me. I should have gone after Princess Python. God, her name is stupid. But you scared me, Sammy." She bit her lip. "I'd choose you over the shield any day." 

"Tell that to the American public," Sam muttered. He heaved a sigh. "We'll be lucky if the Serpent Society just paint a stupid fucking snake on the thing and be done with it." 

 "You know I don't believe in luck," Misty said. 

"Well, then I won't say it's lucky; I'll say it's fortunate that Fury here is always thinking a billion steps ahead of anyone, so I'm 150% positive he has some kind of tracker on the shield." 

"And you would be right," Fury said. He handed Sam a tablet with a map hologram pulled up. "And it looks like you're headed to Vancouver." 

"I'm going with," Misty said and she had that bullish look in her eye she got when no one had a chance of convincing her out of a decision. 

Fury shrugged. "Want anybody else on this?" 

Sam shook his head. "Let's keep this between the three of us. I swear Fox News will have me burning in effigy if it comes out that I lost the shield." 

Misty looked nonplussed. "They  _already_  burn you in effigy," she pointed out. "And they refuse to call you Captain America. If this comes out, they'll picket your house. They'll get a petition started to force you to relinquish the name. They'd inundate the news cycle with every single mistake you've ever made. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if Fox News singlehandedly destroyed your entire legacy as Captain America over this." 

"Thank you, Misty," Sam enunciated angrily. "That really puts everything in perspective." 

*** 

Sam and Misty arrived in Vancouver around midnight, so they got a hotel near the airport. Misty, still feeling guilty that she'd lost the shield (even after Sam spent half the flight telling her he didn't blame her and he definitely preferred that she got his unconscious body away from the scene and not a piece of painted metal), had insisted that Sam take the bed and she'd take the couch. Sam was too tired to do the 'no, I insist' rigmarole that was technically required of him and he'd crawled under the white duvet and conked out immediately. One of the side effects of the regeneration chamber: extreme tiredness for a day or two after. Technically, Dr. Cho hadn't eve given Sam the all-clear for this operation, but since it was an off-the-books kind of op, Fury had let it slide. 

"Just don't die," he'd said. "I'll be tied up in hearings until  _I_ die if it turns out I put you in the field when you weren't fit." 

"Oh, you do care," Sam had grumbled irritably.  

"Don't worry, sir," Misty said. "He's got me."  

Fury bumped her chin with his knuckle. "Keep him alive for me, then." 

Sam rolled his eyes. Steve had been the first to point out to Sam that Fury treated him and Misty like his son and daughter, but once Sam had seen the dynamic for what it was, it was also painfully clear that Misty was the favorite.  

"He doesn't like me more," Misty had insisted when Sam brought it up. "He just has different ways of showing his love to both of us." 

"He walked you down the aisle, Misty, and gave a three minute speech about how no one, not even Danny, deserved you at the reception." 

"He came to your wedding," Misty said.  

"And asked why I hired a white catering company to ruin potato salad forever. That was his big speech. About how white people can't make potato salad. Except for the Amish. He said more nice things about Amish cooks than he did about me  _on my wedding day._ " 

Misty grimaced. "Okay, maybe I'm the favorite. But at least you're in the family." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Next time Fury is asking me why I can't be a bit more like you, I'll keep that in mind." 

Misty's eyes brightened. "Does he really do that?" she asked. "Am I, like, the golden standard? Does he want you to be more like me?" 

"Baby girl," Sam had warned. "I will literally fight you if you don't shut up right this minute." 

When Sam woke up the next morning in the Vancouver hotel, Misty was in bed with him. Sam had known she wouldn't last on the couch. When they had stayed at his mom's apartment while they were dating, she'd had the fold out couch bed in the living room (no sharing beds under Darlene's roof unless you were married) and she'd made Sam switch with her not ten minutes after lights out. 

She always slept on her stomach with her limbs star-fished. Right now, one of her feet was in the pit of Sam's knee and an arm was draped over his trachea.   

She had braided her hair into plaits the night before. Sam called them her Felicia braids, a la  _Friday._ He reached over and tugged one.  

She grumbled. 

He tugged slightly harder. 

She grumbled again.  

He reached out to pull again and-- 

"One more time and you lose the hand. Both the hands. And an eye." 

Sam pulled her arm off of his throat."Why'd you even offer me the bed if you were just gonna hop in when you felt like it?" 

"I was being magnanimous."  

Sam sat up. "We need to rent a car. And maybe something faster for get-away. I can't fly you out of here with my wings if things get dicey." 

"Okay," Misty said.  

"And I know it’s not mission related or anything, but Steve and I have a standing Skype date today, 0700." 

Misty groaned. "So you want me to go secure a car and two Ducatis while you make heart-eyes at your man." 

Sam tried out his old faithful, puppy dog face. "It doesn't have to be Ducatis." 

Misty groaned a final time and glared blearily at Sam. She was still really cute first thing in the morning.  

By a quarter to seven, she was in her sleek red jumpsuit, her braid out freshly fluffed, and her bionic arm attached – the matte black one because she thought the gold arm might be a little too disco these days. "I'll bring you back something sweet," she promised.  

As soon as she was out the door, Sam grabbed his computer and connected to the internet. He skimmed over half a dozen mission updates that he had the clearance to see, then called Steve on Skype. Steve picked up on the first ring. Like always.  

"What's wrong?" Steve asked as soon as his face appeared on the screen. 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Nothing's wrong. Why do you always start our Skypes like that?"  

"Because something's always wrong. You're not getting enough sleep and you look stressed." 

Sam smiled. "I'm Captain America, babe." 

Steve peered at him suspiciously. The grainy resolution of the video left a lot to be desired, but Sam had missed his husband's face. So handsome and lovely. Even if it was screwed up with worry. "Sam," he said, "tell me what's wrong." 

Sam wanted to kiss the concern from the corners of Steve's eyes, from the furrow in his brow, from the tension in his jaw. "Are you really going to waste these precious moments we have together to try to convince me there's something wrong?" Sam asked. "Or are we going to have a nice chat about our respective weeks?" 

Steve sighed. "I love you," he said. 

"But?"  

"But when you don't tell me everything, it's very--" Steve heaved a dramatic sigh. "It's frustrating. Being apart this long." 

Sam nobly didn't point out that Steve had volunteered for this mission that had gone on for over a year. Steve had said he owed it to Bucky who was still on cryo. He said that Bucky should come out to a world where his abusers had been thoroughly cleansed from the earth.  

It was a nice sentiment.  

And in theory, Sam agreed.  

But in practice, it meant months of Steve in Europe and Sam taking up the mantle of Captain America against the wishes of every racist in America and plenty of racists abroad. Steve had sorta, kinda, single-handedly put them in this predicament and Sam had sorta, kinda agreed to it all in a fit of insanity that had presented itself, he now realized, as heroic altruism.  

And what had they gotten out of it. Steve, Nat, and Sharon were on a never-ending whack-a-mole Hydra hunt and Sam was getting constantly lambasted in the media and fighting bad guys who never stayed down nearly long enough. There were a dozen "Is Sam Wilson Even Competent?" articles a day and  multiple anti-Cap rallies had cropped up across the country after Sam got the shield. One of the late night shows had even had a well-known political pundit come on national television to say with a completely straight face that Sam had banged his way to the top and used his homosexual agenda to pollute Steve's pure, innocent (white) mind, ostensibly using his dick as some kind of magic wand with the powers of hypnosis and corruption. (Rhodey had cried actual tears laughing at that video clip and Sam had pretended it was funny, when it actually set his whole body on fire with rage.) Less infuriating, but certainly irritating was the fact that #NotMyCap had trended pretty constantly for the last year and Sam could pretty much count on seeing some political cartoon about his weekly failures somewhere, somehow during the course of a day.  

In a lot of ways, it would have been better if  _Sam_  had gone with Nat and Sharon and Steve had kept on being the blond, blue-eyed face of America. Sam and Steve would still be apart, but all this stateside unpleasantness wouldn't have happened. Unpleasantness that was going to get a lot worse if Sam didn't recover the shield before the news broke that he didn't have the damn thing. Ugh. 

"I miss you," Sam said. "That's why I look like this. It kicks my ass every day that I don't get to be with you. It hurts like--" Sam cleared his throat and looked away from the screen. "It hurts like hell." He tried to laugh. "Why do you always make me cry when we Skype?"  

Steve sighed. "I don't mean to." He grabbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. "I wanna come home. I wanna see you and touch you and kiss you. I wanna be a team again." 

Sam closed his eyes. This was the part where he said that Steve's mission was way more important than them missing each other. Steve  _was_  exposing and jailing members of a neo-Nazi sect that almost succeeded in a world domination plot three years ago.  

That had to take precedence over this pang in Sam's chest, over the empty side of his bed with the dentless pillow, the pity-brunches that all his coupled up friends invited him to, the fact that he hadn't had sex in four months (and that had only happened because one of Sam's ops had taken him to Poland in July and Steve had jumped on a plane from Prague to Warsaw and met Sam in an airport hotel for a couple hours of that slow, cry-when-you-come kind of sex).  Saving the world took precedence over all that. 

So why couldn't Sam say it? Why couldn't he say, "It's fine, Steve. You're doing important work"? He bit his lip instead and put his head in his hands.  

"Sam," Steve said. 

"Give me a second, babe." Sam pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and gave himself to the count of three to pull it together. One.  _This sucks._ Two.  _This really fucking sucks._ Three.  _But it's gonna be okay._ "Alright," he said, putting on a smile. "Let's talk about something other than missing each other. How are Nat and Sharon?" 

Misty rapped her knuckles on the door frame of Sam's room about an hour later. She had two donuts wrapped in a napkin and a little plastic cup of orange juice. "I got us a car and a chopper on stand-by. A pilot in the area owes me a favor. We're all set. The tablet is blinking the shield's location loud and clear." 

Sam nodded. "I'm still surprised they haven't shown their hand on this yet. Even to send us a taunting message that they're holding the symbol of our hope and freedom." 

"Maybe we're getting lucky?" 

"You don't believe in luck." 

"But you do. And maybe you need me to believe in it too." 

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Misty came and sat at the foot of the bed. She handed him his breakfast and rubbed his knee. "I don't think you went off on those reporters like that just because the Serpent Society is getting under your skin." 

"Oh yeah?" Sam bit into his donut. "What makes you so sure?" 

"Sammy, I've known you my whole life. And you are a classic stuffer. You hold it all in until not another bit will fit inside and then you go off about something completely unrelated. You remember the thermostat fight." 

"It was 80 degrees in the apartment, Misty!" 

"Yeah, but you were mad that Lynn was moving away and that one of your vets had killed herself and it was right around Riley's birthday." 

Sam hung his head.  

"You're dealing with so much right now. The Serpent Society. Fox News. Now this congressional funding issue. And the persistent problem of feeling like you're doing it all alone." 

"You read some of my psych books when we lived together, didn't you?" 

Misty smiled. "I don't know what I'd do if Danny and I had to be apart for months at a time. Remember when he went to India to see his family last year? It was two weeks and I was a mopey mess by day four. You came up to New York and stayed with me for a couple days because I was such a baby about it." 

Sam remembered. They'd eaten ice cream and watched B.A.P.S. and reruns of Martin. Misty had asked Danny to marry her the moment he came through the international arrivals queue.   

"You're being really strong about this," Misty said. She squeezed Sam's thigh. "I'm proud of you, Sammy." 

Sam shook his head. "I'm barely keeping it together." 

"Sam." 

"Can I bitch for a sec, no judgment?"  

"Of course." Misty held up her bionic hand. "But this gets me a free bitch sesh at any hour of my choosing. No expiration date. And you have to pick up your phone and you have to use your active listening and compassion ears." 

"Fine," Sam agreed. 

"Proceed." 

Sam took a deep breath. "I fucking hate this. I hate it so much. Being Captain America is not nearly as fun as I thought it'd be when I was a kid. It's really hard and people yell at me all the time and I'm in way over my head and I have to answer to a bunch of people and it fucking sucks." 

Misty nodded, didn't say, "That's life, kiddo," which meant she really was going to let Sam bitch it out. 

"The conservatives hate me, but, you know, they didn't care that much for Steve after he came out. The liberals keep trying to use me as a mouthpiece when they're just as idiotic as the guys across the aisle. Nothing I do has a lasting impact. Fury rides me all the time. Rhodey moved to New Orleans; you live in New York; and my fucking husband is in fucking Europe doing fuck-all! And now I'm shouting in a Vancouver airport hotel and I can't seem to stop. And you should definitely probably slap me or I'm just going to keep shouting until those stupid Mounties on their stupid moose come in and shoot me, but maybe they'll just taze me to death because I don't even know if Canadian police have fucking guns because I don’'t know shit about anything. GAHHHHH." 

Misty graciously didn't slap Sam. She squeezed his knee and he deflated like a balloon with a small tear in the plastic. "Do you feel a little better?" she asked. 

Sam took a deep breath before answering and let it out slowly. "Yes," he muttered.  

"Do you want a hug?" 

Sam nodded. He felt suddenly very small and stupid. "Yes." 

Misty wrapped him in her arms and stroked his back firmly. Back when they were together and Sam's panic attacks were still pretty ugly, she used to hold him tight like this. It helped. He buried his face in her shoulder on the non-bionic side. She smelled like coconut oil and the DKNY perfume she'd worn as long as Sam had known her. He bought her a new bottle every Christmas.  

"Let's go get your shield back, okay? You can punch some snake people. I can punch some snake people. It'll be real therapeutic." 

"Not exactly upstanding heroics, though." 

"Oh," Misty pshawed. "Those guys have murdered, kidnapped, extorted, and lied their way across the continent and they won't spend more than a few days in jail for their trouble. The least we can do is punch them around a little." 

Sam pulled away to give Misty a reproving look.  

"I'm not a cop anymore," she said. "I don't have to play by the rules." 

Sam shook his head. "We really are nothing but a bunch of thugged up vigilantes," he said. 

Misty stood. "It's all in the branding, you know. SHIELD legitimizes us with their logo, but by all definitions, we really are. Just some trussed up, international bounty hunters. Uncommon criminals." 

"We should write our own critique articles," Sam said. "Submit to Fox News under a pseudonym. We'd at least make some decent money that way." 

Misty laughed and pretended to quote, "'One of my sources confirms that Sam Wilson, the one they call Captain America (but is he really? #NotMyCap), snores when he sleeps. He also forgets to close the fridge all the way and spoils others' leftovers. He is the worst.'" 

"Eyewitnesses swear that they've never seen Misty wear a bonnet to bed'," Sam added. "Black women across the nation are outraged and are left wondering, is Misty Team Natural, or a Team Fraud." 

"Hey," Misty said. "I have satin pillowcases." 

"Oh, okay," Sam said. "'Edit: After the publication of this article, we received a credible report that Misty Knight said, quote, I am too good for bonnets, unquote. We have also learned that all the fabrics in her house are satin, because cotton is, as Misty says, for the peasants. We have reached out to the magnates of the cotton industry for comment.'" Sam dodged Misty's playful swat and laughed.  

She really knew how to make him feel better.  

***

The GPS took them to what looked like golf course, but their map said it was the Cobra Grove Manor.  

"They certainly don't deviate from the brand," Misty muttered. "I swear to god if they've got snakes in this grass, I'm ghosting. You are on your fucking own." 

"Thanks, baby girl. Just what you wanna hear from your only backup." 

"I have fought with you in some tight spots," Misty said. "I am allowed one duck-out. Snakes are not my jam." 

"Well, it's December, so I don't think it's going to be much of a factor." 

Misty pressed a jammer into the gate's combox. "Do you think security's stupid good?" 

Sam nodded. "But I've found that being able to fly helps a bit." 

"I thought you couldn't carry me." 

"Not if we're dodging bullets and shit. But if we're lucky, that won't happen until we're ready to go." 

"You and your luck," Misty said. She wrapped an arm around Sam's neck and he put his arm behind her knees and scooped her up. 

He frowned. "You've lost weight." 

"Your mom stopped sending me pies once you and I both got married. Her hope in a Knight-Wilson union is finally dead." 

"Doesn't mean you don't deserve the pies." Sam took off in the air. "I'll talk to her." 

"I would say, 'no, don't; it's fine.' But no one makes sweet potato like Miss Darlene and I'm dying for it. Dying." 

"Alright, don't bail out on me because of some snakes, and I'll pull some strings for you." 

"Good." Misty kissed Sam's cheek in thanks and rested her head on his shoulder. "The real reason I've lost weight is I was doing some fast with Danny." 

Sam wrinkled his nose. "That sounds like something you'd cheat on in a minute." 

"I was being supportive," Misty said tragically. "But I've learned my lesson. Hunger may bring Danny enlightenment. It's just makes me meaner." 

"Knew that already."  

Misty jabbed Sam in the ribs and he pretended he was going to drop her. Misty looked out across the grounds toward the manor coming up fast. "This whole flying thing is going much easier than I anticipated." 

"Snakes hibernate," Sam said. "Maybe the Serpent Society didn't expect us to come all the way to Canada and their guards are down." 

"Or maybe they're just as stupid as we always thought."  

Sam landed and set Misty down on the front stoop.  

"That is always an option," Sam said. They both surveyed the area for cameras or traps, before Sam shrugged and knocked on the door. Viper opened it and pointed a gun right in Sam's face. "Although it doesn't do to underestimate the enemy." 

"Well, well, well," Viper said. "If it isn't Samuel Wilson and Foxy Brown." 

Misty rolled her eyes. She looked thoroughly unimpressed with Viper and his gun. "Only the really camp villains say, 'well, well, well,' anymore," she pointed out.  

Sam smirked. "His name is Jordan and he wants everyone to call him Viper, Misty. I don't think he's too worried about seeming camp." 

"And I don't think you're worried enough about the gun I have aimed at your face," Viper said. 

Misty shrugged. "You're no Cottonmouth or Diamondback. You don't have the guts to pull the trigger." 

"My guess," Sam said, "is he's going to try to tie us up and then livestream his capture of us to the world somehow. That feels like something he'd do." 

"I beat you!" Viper shouted. "I won in that fight yesterday. And I took your precious shield." 

"I was going to ask you about that," Sam said. "I racked my brain and I couldn't figure out why you'd do that. I mean, I was apparently unconscious on that roof, so you could have killed me. But you just took my shield. Why?" 

"Why?" Viper sneered. He dropped the gun to his side. "It's a trophy. I beat you!" 

"I think it's because you're still a second-rate villain," Sam said. "That's why they made you the face of the Serpent Society. You're white, okay-looking, and a man, but you couldn't get your hands dirty even if you wanted to, because you're entirely inept." 

"I took your shield!" 

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Misty, didn't Princess Python take the shield?" 

"She sure did, Sam. Viper here had already hopped into his get-away chopper by the time I arrived on scene." 

"She did it on my orders." 

"So you have it here?" Sam asked. 

"Of course." 

"Alright. Give it back and I won't kick your ass." 

Viper took a step back. "I don't think Foxy Brown here would agree to that." 

Misty sneered. "You're not really worth my time, Viper." 

"What about my princess, then? Is she worth your time?  She says she hit you with quite the electrical shock. It's a cattle prod, you know? I told her not to use it. Looks amateurish. But it certainly put you on your back, didn't it? My princess bested you and took the shield. She said it was like taking candy from a very dumb baby." 

Misty scowled. "Everybody gets a lucky shot every now and then." 

Sam didn't need any more warning than that. He dropped to the ground as Misty swung her bionic arm and sent a shock wave through the room.  

Viper flew back across his foyer, down the hall, and hit the far wall. He grunted and lay still for a couple seconds. Misty and Sam walked into the house proper and looked around. Standard too-much-money décor. No shield in sight. Viper pulled himself up shakily and laughed. "Now see, that wouldn't have happened if I was holding the shield." He dabbed at the blood on his temple. "I have to admit, Foxy. I didn't know your arm could do that." 

"It can also do this." Misty held up a ball of energy in her hand and threw it at Viper, but Princess Python dropped from the stairs above and hit the ball away with her cattle prod like they were playing the world's deadliest game of baseball. Sam had time to wrap Misty in his wings before the energy ball exploded behind them, blowing a hole in the front door. 

"I knew you were going to ruin my winter home," Viper said. "I come here for the ski slopes and the quiet, and here come you politically correct wet dreams to ruin my fun."  

Misty batted Sam's wings away. "Tell us where the damn shield is or I'm gonna tear this dumb, piece-of-shit house down to the foundation." 

"Sam," Viper said. "I see we have a similar problem. " He nodded at Princess Python. "It's the female who has the deadliest bite."  

Princess Python ran across the room faster than the eye could track and feinted like she was going to hit Sam with her cattle prod. Sam dodged her, but she went for Misty and hit her in the chest. Misty fell to the ground.  

"Stings, don't it?" Princess Python said. She blew on the end of her prod. "And that's the lowest setting. Wanna go a little higher?" 

Sam snapped his wings out and walloped Princess Python across the room with them.  

"That wasn't very nice," Viper said. Sam looked over to where Viper should have been standing, but he had disappeared. "Hitting a girl like that." His voice seemed to come from all directions. "Steve would never. Tsk. Tsk." 

Sam helped Misty to her feet and saw that Princess Python had also made her escape. Fantastic. 

"You alright?" Sam asked. 

Misty held up her bionic arm and clenched the fist. The metal plates shifted like muscle and an electrical cloud formed around her hand. "I'll be better if I get to punch Viper in his stupid mouth." 

"Not that I don't want to see that," Sam said, "but can you go get Princess Python?"   

Misty frowned and put her non-glowing-with-electricity hand on her hip. "Are you making me go fight her because we're both women?"  

"Baby girl," Sam pled.  

"Fine," Misty said. "I'll go. But when it turns out that Cobra and Death Adder are somewhere in this house and one of them beats you like you stole something and you're wondering how it all came to this, remember that you sent me off to have a second-tier fight with Princess Python because we're both girls, when I could have definitely helped you in this fight. I want you to think about my mean right hook while they're kicking your ass ."  

"I will think of that, Misty. Swear. Please go catch her."  

Misty patted Sam's cheek while kissing his other. "I was giving her a head start to make things interesting." 

Misty jumped through the hole in the front door, her fist crackling with her energy and her coily hair bouncing.  

"Marco," Sam called.  

"Poooooollllllllooooo," Viper hissed. Apparently he had set up intercoms all over the place because his voice emanated from all directions.  

"I'm gonna tell you something I probably shouldn't, Viper," Sam called out. He walked slowly through the foyer. "I'm really tired. Too tired for any of our usual hand-to-hand combat." He peeked into the dining room. Empty. "And you're probably thinking this is a trap of some kind. That I'm underselling myself for tactical reasons." The kitchen was empty too. Cherry wood cabinets like the ones Sam had wanted when he thought he and Steve were going to move in together and renovate that house out on Ridley. "But that's not what's happening at all." An over-decorated office with lots of books. Probably one of them was a switch to a secret room. The Serpent Society had no imagination.  

"I'm too tired to have some bare-knuckles brawl with you. So if it comes down to it, I'm gonna shoot you. Pulling a trigger doesn't require that much energy. But every time I kill someone in the line of duty, I have to go to a congressional hearing; I have to go to a World Council hearing. I have to see my SHIELD therapist for six mandatory sessions. And that's on top of my regular therapy and meetings. It's a real drag." Sam pulled books off the shelf and let them fall on the floor. "And I don't think you're worth it. So I'm gonna shoot you in the kneecap. The patella, if you're nasty. And it's gonna hurt like a bitch. But you won't die. A win-win for me."  

Sam noticed a book called  _The New Encyclopedia of Snakes._ He rolled his eyes and pulled. Sure enough, the fireplace opened and there was a hidden room behind it. "I'm only telling you all this because I'm a good person. Well, Captain America is a good person and when I'm in this suit, I've gotta be good, too. I don't think you want me to shoot you in the knees. Sorry.  Before, I said I was only going to shoot you in the one knee. I'm gonna shoot you in both of them. Now, I know that's not something Steve would do. But we're different kinds of captains. If you've read any newspapers, you'll see that people really don't like my methods. I don't think it's really about me shooting you in the knees though. I'm pretty sure it's because I'm black." Sam walked slowly into the hidden room. "But I'm getting off topic. Let's start over. If you don't give me the shield right now, I'm going to shoot you in both your kneecaps." 

Sam held his gun aloft as he went further into the bowels of the hidden chamber. It was damp and chilly in here and there was a lot of cheesy snake iconography. He took slow, careful steps, and breathed softly so he could hear the slightest noises.  

"I didn't expect you to get so far," Viper said. More speakers installed here. 

"Your switch was a book about snakes, kiddo. You have got to get less literal." 

"Says the guy wearing the American flag." 

"Ah, you know, the blue brings out the color of my eyes." Sam saw movement behind him in the reflection of a glass panel. He held his position, fingering the trigger of his gun. "And the red really complements the undertones of my rich, brown skin. The white? Well, that was so the racists could have a little something to hold on to." 

Viper tried to rush Sam from behind with the shield as a battering ram, but Sam agilely stepped out of the way at the last second. Viper stumbled ahead and Sam shot him in the back of his knee. Viper went sprawling across the room and the shield rolled under a large table and clattered to a stop.  

Sam retrieved his shield. He didn't do anything weird like kiss it, but he considered it for a second. He sauntered over and stood over Viper, who was whimpering and clutching his leg.  

"I said I was going to shoot you in both your knees," Sam said, raising the gun.  

"Please, no, please!" 

"I had a Hydra agent point out that the shield is the size of a dinner plate once. That I was leaving my knees unprotected. Never thought that info would come in handy." Sam bent down and peeled Viper's hands away from his wound. "Yeesh," he said. "Hope your leg doesn't have to come off. You snakes are always getting fancy appendages attached that make it twice as hard to catch you." Sam opened his utility belt and pulled out a dose of morphine. "I'm not a sadist or anything. And I imagine if you're conscious, you're going to try to get away at some point. This is morphine I'm about to give you. You allergic?" 

Viper shook his head.  

"And you're about 180 pounds?" 

Viper nodded.  

Sam pushed the needle into Viper's arm. "Well, isn't that lucky?" 

*** 

Sam and Misty rendezvoused on the front lawn. Misty had a knocked-out Princess Python in magnetic cuffs. Sam had Viper over his shoulder in the fireman's carry and the shield attached to the magnet on his wrist. All was well.   

"'You don't have the guts to pull the trigger'," Sam quoted at Misty. 

She shrugged. "He didn't shoot you, did he?" 

"Next time you wanna be a smarty pants, make sure the gun is pointed at you. That's all I'm saying." 

Misty made a W with her thumbs and index fingers.  

"So that chopper?" Sam asked.  

"Just called." Misty said. She had a small gash in her suit where Princess Python had shocked her, but looked otherwise unharmed. "Pilot should be here any minute. Even booked our return flight to D.C. I'm an excellent multi-tasker." 

"Thanks, baby girl." 

"Technically, I did lose the damn thing. Makes sense that I'd help you bring it back." 

"You know, Steve is always begging me to get a partner," Sam said. 

"I'm not moving to D.C."  

Sam shrugged. He could hear the chopper approaching now. "Steve's off galivanting through Europe. Congress fucking hates me. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to come back to New York." 

"I'm not changing my name," Misty said. "No Miss America or Lady Freedom bullshit." 

"I'm sorry," Sam laughed. "That's non-negotiable. It's Lady Freedom or bust." 

Misty pushed Sam's shoulder, then pushed her hair back from her face as it was being whipped by the chopper coming to pick them up.  

"Do we need to explain the unconscious bodies?" Sam shouted.  

Misty grinned. "This is the kind of favor that covers unconscious bodies!" she shouted back.  

Sam wisely did not ask.  

*** 

When Sam came home to his condo – after Fury patted his back and Dr. Cho yelled at him for going on a mission hours out of the regeneration tank and a couple journalists ambushed him when he left SHIELD campus and Agent Hill had to turn on the sprinklers to disperse them – he placed the shield on the coffee table and collapsed on the sofa. He had big plans to remain prostrate for the next 12 hours – at minimum.  

He half-heartedly pulled at some of the zippers and fastenings of his uniform, before he gave up and turned ESPN on to a basketball game. Sleep came up on him fast.  

And then Steve was there, looking tired and beautiful in all black, like a really buff artist from the Lower East Side. Sam couldn't say that he'd ever seen Steve look so handsome. He was going to have to suggest that his husband invest in a pair of black jeans pronto and maybe a V-neck, black cashmere sweater. And the black knit hat. His eyes looked absurdly blue against all that black.  

Sam smiled sleepily. "I thought I'd be too tired for a sex dream," he mumbled. "As it is, I think you'll have to do all the work." 

Steve laughed. "I don't mind doing all the work," he said. "But I have to make sure you're completely awake first." 

Sam yawned. "That would ruin it. If I wake up, you'll be gone and I'll be all alone again." 

Steve came and sat on the arm of the sofa. He stroked his thumb along Sam's cheekbone. He was so real Sam could have cried. Which would change the complexion of the dream and he probably wouldn't get dream sex out of this.  

"At least my brain is giving me a little treat here," he said. He sat up. "It's been a long two days." 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Steve asked.  

Sam shook his head. "I want dream sex before I wake up. Take off your clothes." 

Steve laughed again. "Sam, this isn't a dream. And I'm not gonna sex you up while you're out of it." 

"Even in a dream, I can't get laid." 

"Sam," Steve said. He shook Sam's shoulder. "You are not asleep. You are interacting with your real-life, in-the-flesh, was-in-Latvia-but-hopped-on-a-plane-and-came-back-to-his-husband partner. I'm really, truly here." 

Sam blinked slowly, taking all that in. "I was in the regenerator tank sometime yesterday," he explained. "Or the day before that." 

"You were hurt?" Steve asked. He reached for Sam and ran his hands along Sam's arms and chest, looking for wounds that weren't there. 

"The tank makes me so tired and gaga," Sam went on. "And I miss you so bad. My brain could think it's helping by creating this beautiful mirage." 

Steve smiled sadly. "I'm sorry I've made you doubt me, Sam, but I am right here. I asked Fury to put some other people out in the field. Sharon, Nat, and I were all coming apart." 

Sam put his head in Steve's lap. "If I wake up and you're still here," he mumbled, "I'll let myself be happy." He closed his eyes. Steve smelled like the cold outside, unfamiliar, but his hand was warm where it cupped Sam's face. And he looked so real, he felt so real.  

"I'll be here," Steve promised. "I'm never leaving again." 

"Who's gonna be..." Sam felt himself being pulled under, but it felt critical to ask. "Captain … America?" 

"Let's let someone else do it for a while," Steve suggested. "We should retire. Get out of the game and be domestic." 

"Misty would make a... she'd be good." 

"Go to sleep, Sam. We'll talk about it later. I love you." 

"I love...you...too...Just...be here...in...in the morning..." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this, Nonnie. Thanks for the prompt. :D 
> 
> (Not a lot of editing, because I am a lazy fuck. Yell me in the comments for anything egregious.)


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